On the hillside where the commoners watched, a cheer erupted from more than a thousand people when Erling staggered out of the Frozen Forest.
"He made it!"
"Lord Erling is in the lead!"
"We'll win this one for sure!"
That enthusiasm ran headlong into a wall as hard and cold as ice when people watched Erling limp his way over to the emerald green scarf, pulling it down not as a trophy or a prize, but to use as a bandage for his badly wounded leg.
"Mama," a young boy said, tugging on his mother's sleeve as he watched Lord Erling struggle with freezing fingers and a bloody wound. The north end of the Frozen Forest was the closest the contest would come to where the common folk sat, and Erling was less than fifty paces away, giving the child and everyone around him a very clear view of how badly battered the Lord Governor of Fayle truly was.
"Mama, is he gonna be all right? He, he looks like he's hurt bad…" the boy said.
